Let The Game Begin
by MetaphoricallySane
Summary: 'SAW' Hoffman and John slash. When Jigsaw finds himself in a trap, the Game is about to begin...
1. Chapter 1

**Let The Game Begin**

Hoffsaw

(SAW)

He was used to darkness. Waiting, watching, witnessing the blackest hours of the players' lives. But there was something about this darkness that was… different. Unnerving. He wasn't stupid. He knew he'd been drugged; he could feel it in his veins, not to mention the crude injection site. He wouldn't be like the others. He would not panic. He valued his life, and if anyone wanted to test him… he was more than happy to oblige.

Dopily he opened his eyes, glanced around that familiar nothingness. He tugged lightly at his arms and legs – chained. _How primitive_, he thought, gathering as many other hints as he could before his Game started. The room smelt dank, dusty, deserted – like every other place he did his work. There was a low humming of machinery. Again, he was used to it. There was a taste in the air that he could not mistake. Aftershave. And as he curled his fingers, he felt the mattress beneath him; springs jutted out into his back, but after all he'd been through he could hardly feel it.

The person who had put him here probably knew who he was, he realised, and very few people knew that, unless Jill had said something… No, of course not. He had her right where he needed her. Amanda? No. She worshipped him. There was no way…

Unless she had finally snapped. And in that case, he wished her the best.

There was only one other – Hoffman.

He dismissed the notion instantly. Maybe it was the fact he had known him so long, worked with him so long, that proved his loyalty; but maybe it was just blind trust, fuelled by emotion and care that the man thought he had long since lost.

"I'm too old for this," he grunted at last, disappointed in the trap but curious to see what was before his eyes, probably looming over him, counting his breaths until he was truly alert. He knew how all this worked.

A light flicked on and glared down at him as he cringed and looked away, his eyelids flaring red as the brightness hit his mind like a fist. He opened his eyes slowly until he could look around the room.

And he knew where he was.

It was a part of his complex – a volatile gas pumped into the vents, shackles on the floor, yes, yes, one of his earlier designs. He hadn't been here for a long, long time. The idea had been that the key to the chains would be stitched inside the subject's stomach, and the other player would need to release them before the gas choked them both. However, if the chained player died, the doors would be locked, therefore killing the free player as well. But he had never found the subjects suiting it.

The surgical lamp was old but the bulb was new and glistening as it taunted him. If he was alone in here, there was no escape – and besides, there was no pain in any part of his body. Someone had modified his Game. It made a wave of ice-cold anger ride through him, but it subsided when he heard that warm voice.

"Hello, John," it said, and he just watched, smiling softly, thinking it was all very… sad, really. "I want to play a game…"

"Just drop it, Mark," he grumbled.

"Oh, but I'm serious," Hoffman told him, stepping closer. He held up the key, almost mockingly. John rolled his eyes.

"What is this?"

The younger man just chuckled. "Payback."

John tugged at his restraints again, growing a little uncomfortable now. Who wouldn't be? Hoffman was practically standing over him, dangling the key, and John could read it in his eyes that he had been planning this for a long time. He had watched his apprentice for so long… and he wasn't surprised.

"For what, Mark?" he argued, quietly. "I saved your life. I changed you. I made you understand. What have I done wrong?"

The obvious answer would have been the murders, but neither of them saw that as wrong. It was teaching for those who would not learn. And now, apparently, Jigsaw himself had a lesson planned out for him.

His apprentice stared him straight in the eyes, his soul glistening out as he said, "You haven't told me about you. The real you, John. And I think I figured you out."

"Oh really?" John joked, rolling his head to one side nonchalantly. So he'd been brought here to tell his life story. How dull.

But when he looked round, Mark was straddled over him. John blinked several times, and felt his body betray him as his cheeks reddened and muscles tensed. He cursed himself for being so blatant about it; he had only adopted Mark as an apprentice and yet…

Through the Games they had begun playing their own. The way they'd support each other, work together as an unstoppable team of two, motivate one another and seen eye to eye, even through screams of terror.

And most of all, they had joked. Very little, but what was there to laugh about at all? They had stood by one another.

Even John hadn't noticed, through all his behavioural and human studies, that his very own emotions had been getting away from him.

"John, I may have a lot to learn, but I know _you_," he told him strongly, pressing closer until he felt John twitch and tug against the chains again, scraping his wrists until Mark seized them and stopped his struggles. "But I'm still your apprentice. Say the word, and I'll let you go. Of course, this is your Game… If you can't win yours, what's the point?"

He had half a mind to bite back about his unborn child and that being his test – after all, that was what had changed him. But no. No. That idiot was right. This was his Game. Besides… isn't this what he had wanted?

He had watched Mark, hand-picked him, trained him, taken him under his wing and despite his own warnings, he had grown attached to him.

"I want to play a game," John answered, his voice husky and almost seductive, definitely seductive by Mark's ears.

His heart skipped a beat to hear John say those words. He had planned this all so carefully – he had never imagined it would work. It had started as respect but his adoration for his mentor had burst out frantically after the first few traps. He couldn't help it – the more he spoke to John, the more he understood, the more he saw, the more he lived… the more he loved him. In truth he didn't know where to go from here. It had been a stupid risk, to see what Jigsaw thought of his feeble attempts and what he felt about him. He had expected releasing him instantly, being scolded and probably trapped himself.

He had thought the risk was worth it.

Now, having succeeded, he wasn't so sure.

John raised his eyebrows. He could read Mark's daunted expression – he was scared. John had beaten his Game, and yet he hadn't won. And what was left to do? Cheat.

"Oh Mark, don't you understand?" he soothed. He wanted to reach out and pull him closer honestly, but chained with his arms above his head and legs stretched out before him, he could do nothing. "You put me here. Now what are you going to do?"

Hoffman was practically trembling. He didn't know. He had never thought this would work, never thought ahead, but he wanted this so badly. He just gazed into his mentor's dark emerald eyes, seeking his guidance.

"Undo my hands." As he was met with a dubious look he added, "Trust me, Mark."

And he did. He leaned closer to him, reaching up for the first padlock, key held in unsteady hands until he realised that he was completely on top of John, lips centimetres apart and John's breath whispering over his cheek. He moved closer, almost unable to think through his actions, and not really caring if this was wrong – he had John where he needed him.

He grabbed his wrist, still wanting to follow orders but unable to break eye contact, seeing his own terrified reflection in John's eyes. He fumbled with the lock, not looking at what he was doing, his gaze shifting between his eyes and his lips, growing more and more fascinated, understanding this was within his reach and yet-

"Just fucking kiss me," John instructed, and Mark, taken aback, did as he was told unfeelingly at first.

But then things changed. John relaxed, smiled his rare smile of actually enjoyment rather than irony, and the emotions hit home, sending both their hearts pumping. Still holding his wrists Mark could feel his pulse, radiating through him, beating stronger, stronger.

He was nervous, John knew. It was… sweet. Mark was always so reserved usually, but now he was truly vulnerable. John knew he would have to take the lead, despite being tied down. _He showed so much promise with this… Let's see how this plays out… _He impatiently nipped at Mark's lips, demanding more and Mark yelped a little as John forced his tongue to meet his, drawing him closer by desire alone until he reciprocated and they fought for the domination. John had a plan; it was working. As soon as Mark took control…

He bit down hard on his tongue, making Mark rock into him a little, groaning softly, pressing his chest to John's, tangling their legs together. John's chains clinked as he struggled once more, finally understanding why his subjects fought so hard, but then again they'd never had Mark sodding Hoffman trying to screw them at the same time. He tore away from the kiss, and demanded again, "Let me have my hands." He was already beginning to feel a tingling pain in his crotch, and he needed to guide Mark before he grew too desperate. Begging was not something he was willing to do. Especially not for this, especially not with Mark…

Mark sat back a little, hands holding his captive's waist as a smug smile crept onto his lips. "No."

"Mark, I-"

John moaned a little as his apprentice gripped harder, cutting off his annoyance with pleasure seeping through his muscles, pressure points far too untrained against this kind of mistreatment, if he could even call it that considering the enjoyment awakening within him.

"Mark, don't-"

Lower. Harder. Fucking bastard. John's hips buckled a little but the chains held him firmly in place.

"Just let me out."

"No."

The sound of his zipper going down grated on his self control and he drew a shaky breath as the cold breeze ran along his legs. He watched Mark carefully.

"I am very willing to partake in this, just let me out of the manacles and-"

"I said no." He leaned closer, letting his lips grazed John's ear as he whispered, "Let the Game begin."


	2. Chapter 2

This wasn't right. John struggled once again, painfully understanding what his victims were put through, only this time there was no punishment. Well, not of the usual kind, not about appreciating life… Appreciating Hoffman? But John did!

"Mark – what is this about?" he managed, ignoring his straining arousal, his almost desperation for his apprentice's touch.

"You want me to teach a lesson?" Mark hissed, nipping at his mentor's collarbone, one hand feeling his chest rise and fall, the other holding his hip strongly to keep him still.

"I know all the lessons," John growled, rolling his head away.

"You haven't learnt me," Hoffman replied, his voice husky with lust as he dug his fingers round John's pelvis, gripping the bone, feeling the blood rushing underneath his taught skin. "You don't know me at all. You took me in, made me learn, made me fucking love you, and you don't even have the decency to return the favour. What kind of fucking lesson is that?"

He wouldn't beg, but he could feel the tears in his eyes. Of course, Mark was right, so damn right, but putting _him _in a trap? "We can talk about this…" he suggested, and despite his anxiety he was able to keep the force in his voice as he always did.

"_We? _What have I done? This is all you, you taking _me _for granted, taking your _own life _for granted, even though you've killed to prove it to people!"

"I'm not a killer."

"No – but I am."

Their eyes met, searching each other for some kind of emotion, some kind of understanding, but there was only confusion. With brutal force Mark seized his mentor's crotch through his boxers with a smile as Jigsaw gasped in pain and pleasure. Fuck him. Fuck Hoffman to hell.

Or so John wished.

"Look at me, John," Mark demanded, holding his chin with his free hand, forcing their gazes to meet once again. "Remember what you told me. You had a gun to my throat and told me to look, just to fucking look at myself. And I did. You know what I saw? I saw _you."_

John narrowed his eyes, seeing the hurt in Hoffman's, realising that without him the apprentice would be nothing. And without his apprentice, he would be nothing. Maybe he didn't appreciate him enough. Maybe he was too busy with his Games to see himself.

"Do you see me?" Mark whispered, tears welling into his angry eyes. "Do you see me now?"

Pressing into John's cheeks so hard he had to open his mouth to let out a shaky breath, his loyal apprentice lowered his head a little, letting his eyelashes brush delicately on John's forehead.

"You don't even care, do you? You saved my life and you won't let me be grateful. I saved yours and you don't even realise. Look at what we've done, John. So many have died because they didn't appreciate, but those who survive really do _live. _We're the lucky ones, John…"

He was silent, allowing his jaw to tremble, allowing himself to press into Mark's cupped hand, allowing himself to breathe. He watched the shadows across his apprentice's body, the glow behind him illuminating the truth that he wanted to accept. That Mark was here. That Mark wouldn't leave. That this was his moment to give in to it and to allow himself to actually _feel something_.

"Mark…" he offered, but he pulled his chin up, the edge of his hand pressing into John's neck leaving him silent, as though it was a warning.

"Don't," Mark hissed. "You had your chance; don't think I'll just accept an apology."

That was when it started to hurt. There was pain behind his apprentice's eyes, a pain that he had caused. He had done something wrong, and now there was no chance to fix it. Was there? No, he could not beg. He was Jigsaw. And yet he was here and he wanted this and he was chained and he was _guilty_.

"But Mark-"

Hoffman ripped his belt off of him aggressively and tore open his shirt. John shut his eyes easily, but his pulse had never been this fast. He clenched his hands into fists, slick with sweat, and kept quiet. He felt like he should protest and yet- and yet…

He wanted to say his name. He wanted to apologise, but something in Hoffman's eyes glared out at him. This was what he needed – some kind of revenge, gratification, satisfaction that he was appreciated.

And damn it all if for once Jigsaw wasn't prepared to agree to that. Maybe he did have something to learn. Maybe he had been too harsh on his apprentice.

Pressing down on his chest, Mark felt his heartbeat, thudding strongly, pumping blood, living. His hands were cold and John trembled back, but there was nowhere to escape to, no way of breaking the chains that held him.

Mark held the key in front of John's eyes, and he watched it swing side to side.

"Face it, John. You need me."

"You just want attention."

"Damn right I do."

He struck across his bare chest with his own belt, watching him cringe and tug away, the snap of the whip echoing through empty halls, far away into darkness.

"Feel what I feel."

And then he climbed off of him, scowled down at him, and left, the door swinging shut slowly behind him.

John watched his hot breath roll out into the cold air, listened to his own gasps as he took stock of the situation. He could feel Hoffman watching him, knew he wasn't far, but there was nothing he could do without him.

He was the key.


	3. Chapter 3

"This is actually quite comfortable," John teased, relaxing into the restraints, rolling his head around loosely. "You could just leave me here."

A drop of oil splashed to the ground, and he raised his eyebrows. He could hear the workshop in action as usual – gas pipes hissing, machinery clanking, people screaming. Test subjects, clearly. Or Amanda was having some fun. He sighed, thinking of the wasted lives… she would claim they had failed, but he knew better. It made him furious to think of it, but he knew Amanda wouldn't be around forever.

He tipped his head to the door. Would Mark always be around? He wasn't now.

"What are you trying to prove, Hoffman?" he asked loudly. "That I need you, or that you need me? Because nothing's going to happen until you let me go."

Silence – unnerving silence. And then a rumble of pipes, a snarl of gas escaping into the room. He inhaled slowly, rolled his eyes.

"Are you really this desperate, Mark?" he grumbled. "That you would risk killing me to hear me admit to something you already know?"

"Am I desperate, or are you selfish?"

John looked around, but the voice came from nowhere. Perhaps his apprentice had been working on something after all, rather than just re-using traps.

"Killing me will help no one," John reminded. "I'll just be dead. Dead men don't speak."

"But their actions carry on," Hoffman replied. "If you want me to continue your legacy, you need to admit that you need me."

"The purpose is beyond you," John snapped, "beyond any of us! People must learn! You're not doing this for me!"

Silence, and then the pipes roared again. John coughed against it, straining himself before lying back again. "Mark. Please."

His voice was softer as he asked, "Please what?"

He tasted blood, and swallowed it back. "Stop this."

"Admit it."

"Admit what? Mark… I need you. Happy now?"

"Not quite. Think about it, John. Really understand your own lessons."

He shut his eyes, his throat starting to feel raw, his voice becoming hoarse. He did understand. He knew exactly what Mark wanted – he wanted John to realise and appreciate his _own _life, and to admit to all that was.

"Mark…

"I love you.

"Now stop this. Please."

With a clank the gas receded, and the door opened to free it out and away from him. Mark stood in the mist, eyes clouded over, key round his neck. John spluttered, blood catching on his lips but he breathed with relief at the chance of living at least one more day.

"Do you like the way brutality feels, Mark?" he accused, glaring at him.

"Yes," Hoffman hissed, stepping over, "especially when it means getting what _I _want for a change."

"And what do you want?" John whispered, watching him, looking up at him, a slight smirk on his thin lips.

Mark pinned him down, one leg either side of his hips, tugged on the collar of his master's shirt, and growled, "You."

He tried to fight it, to resist it, but Hoffman's kiss wove into his true feelings and soon he found himself wishing for his apprentice to be closer, to lean on him, to touch him. It was as though they were both teenagers who had run away together, making out in a dark alley. Finally he gasped and struggled against Mark, but the dominant man would hear nothing of it, grabbing for John's waist and scratching away John's shirt.

"Mark…" he warned.

"Shut up."

John shut his eyes, trying to relax, but dammit, he was tense. Every muscle in his body was twitching, and he sodding well loved it. It made no sense, but who said it had to? For once, something simple… Mark smirked, pressed closer, teased his hand further down John's body until his eyes shot open once more. He looked flustered and desperate – and Hoffman had never, _never _seen him looking scared until today. But as his name trembled on his lips, Hoffman seized his opportunity.

John gasped and grit his teeth before leaning his head back to the floorboards, hearing them creak slightly as Mark shifted his weight once again, pressing closer, closer. John felt Mark's tongue trailing down his chest, and he let himself relax with a soft moan. Too soft. Hoffman grasped harder, almost crushing his master by leaning on him so much, but that wasn't the reason John was panting.

When John swore, Hoffman jolted a little in shock, and smirked.

"Please, fucking, Mark…" John hissed, unaware that he was even speaking. "What do… you want…"

"To hear you beg," Mark growled, nipping at John's chest, feeling his fluttering heart.

"Anything," John replied, with a groan. "Just please, I need… Please?"

"Need what?"

"You."

Hoffman gulped and increased his speed, finally satisfied, watching John's expression as he let it all go, and his head jerked back and he hissed out Mark's name, panting and trembling, until Mark let go.

He gulped, his breath hitching, his heart beating faster than it had for a long time. He looked up at Mark, and smiled.

"Th-thank you," he murmured.

The next thing he heard was the clicks of the manacles opening, and felt Mark's hand grasp his.

"Back to work," Hoffman mumbled, and as John followed behind he couldn't help thinking that some people never change.

At least not until the Game began.


End file.
